Much tamasha…about something

Mama said, don’t let the boys near.

Papa said, not before the bull is in the shed.

Teacher said, I will disgrace you if I ever find out.

And me, I wondered what all the fuss was about.

∼

There was silence, then there wasn’t.

There was singing, the sonorous humming of creaking springs.

There was silence, then there wasn’t.

There was drumming, the clanging beats of wooden boards.

Then there was silence.

∼

Mama said it has one purpose.

Papa said it has another.

Teacher said both are plausible.

I wondered if they hadn’t missed something.

∼

There was silence, the mind swirled.

Emotions danced a gig, the body rolled in confusion.

There was silence, the body weaved.

Fabrics lay in cords, hearts tied to bedposts.

Then there was silence.

∼

I said, let words be spoken before the time,

And silence the reward of peace abide.

Devoid of mirrors with broken emotions,

or shadows of stringed-on by-standers.

Let words be spoken after the time,

And silence the reward of peace

on the altar of guileless love transcending a moment.

∼

Mama nodded,

Papa reflected,

Teacher said, ‘of this sort I wholly approve’.

 

 

 

I see you

I see you,

yes you, with eyes so deep, oceans rise in them.

I see you,

yes you, with tears so silent, dropping pins echo through.

Yes YOU, with a smile so bright, the sun stands in awe.

I see you.

Yes you, having a day, a moment.

I see you,

grappling through the dust for air,

stripping the words for a vowel of hope.

I see you,

Yes you, it’s a moment, a day,

it will pass, and hope will fill your words again.

I see you,

Yes YOU.

copyright N.chioma

 

360 degrees

I set my love to flight, I gave it wings to fly,

I set my love to flight, it came back battered and bruised

I set my love to flight, I found myself aglow.

Photo by Erik Witsoe via Unsplash

About the title: when we love, well they say it comes back to us.

---

Written for Sonya’s three line tales week 125.

Who’s there?

At the door of death I stand; a tree of ashes

At the door of life I stand; with roots routing for escape

Knocking, demanding, crying for time to standstill; hoping for life anew.

photo by Luis Alfonso Orellana via Unsplash

---

Written for Sonya’s three line tales week 124.

 

 

 

 

 

W

 

 

Baby wearing

I carry you next to me,

I hold you dear.

I carry you next to me,

I hope you know I care.

I carry you on my back,

I wrap you up tight.

I carry you on my back,

I shield you from preying sights.

I carry you next to me, 

I pray for wings of hope.

I carry you next to me,

I will my strength to take us home.

I carry you next to me,

The world around us to explore in safety.

Tailored

The fabric of my life

a pattern above my head

is nothing short of typical days

a messy crisscross of stiches

hemming together

a dress

a shirt

a …..

Restart again

The fabric of my life

an apparel perfect to form

a weaving of colours

shimmering as the sun

shinning as the moon

hemmed together,

a piece

two pieces

three layers

Restart again….

The fabric of my life

as told by the seamstress

is a beauty

less seen, more felt

yet a while before it is complete.

 

 

Five portions of my love

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder,

but what you don’t see you tend to forget.

Neither worked for me,

I remembered them regardless of their absence,

Hatred grew even though they hide in unknown shadows.

They say keep it simple,

So I formed a mnemonic, tattooed it on my wrist.

I stare at it conjuring up images 

They took what mattered 

The law said it was complicated

I said simplify it, they didn’t.

I had only one wish,

to bequeath a special gift this valentine.

My mind insisted on it,

The gift of a red bleeding conscience.

It’s midnight ……

♠♠♠♠♠

Love by it’s very nature lends itself to the conjuring of twisted vines, secret rendezvous and get away rides to a land of heroes and divinity. Love by the nature we conferred on it thrives on complicated storylines rather than simple tales. Alas love relies on the mnemonics numbers and seasons to keep it’s memories aflame.

♠♠♠♠♠

 

 

Level up

Like shadows on a plain
A solidarity in depth we share,
seemingly oblivious of our varying frame.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Like rising shadows from the vale,

A disparity in height emerges,

youthful gale an illusive veil.

 

Like shadows in the dark,

A blade carving slowly through illusions heart 

reality dawns with a harsh bark.

 

Like shadows embracing the light,

A rebirthing occurs 

strengthened arms ready to write.

We assume to be on the same level with others based on the visible, however some have more room for growth than others. Thus some limit themselves whilst others overestimate their capacity for growth. 

Life is very smart. Under certain circumstances you’re on top and under others you’re limited or in need of more growth. Never become complacent.

 

 

So this happened …..

I have been off my blog for a while now and have sorely missed my blogging family and friends. I hope the poems and photo explain why i have been off for a while.

Poems for my babies reflecting our breastfeeding journey:

May:
I’ve a riddle
A riddle indeed,
I am a place, a source
A season, a platform
for nature’s new forage.
What am I?
I stretch, I wiggle
bouncing off the board,
in leaps with a giggle.
What keeps you so, pray tell?
You ask,
I will tell you,
It’s neither boiled nor cooled
Neither filtered nor bottled
Perfectly fresh
On time each time
Mama’s liquid gold
All for me
Fresh as due on springs first morn.

October:
The halo is here
There’s nowhere to hide
Racing orbs of orange
Course through the streets,
Chasing fallen leaves and pumpkin shrines.
What’s this I see?
Tiny feet trailing
down the trick or treat path
I pray the heavens guide
them far from the headless horseman.
The halo’s here
But it won’t find me alone
I snuggle deeper into mama’s bosom
Safe from harm
Phantom or Hyde.

November:
A splash of colours
Green for the elf
Orange for the gnome
Brown for Rudolf’s calf,
And red for the squires home.
Something reminiscent of seasons gone,
A shiny memento for winters gloom.
And what pray ye shall a wee lad have
Something warm,
Something steadfast
A gourmet of nature’s finest
Mama’s milky cuddles
Ample burping shoulders
To shield me through the cold.

To a fair maiden at court.

Where loyalty means naught,

gossip runs amok the corridors of gentry.

‘Tis wisdom to fold the tongue within

lest a knife they find beneath your breast at morn.

Alas not a soul will be held to ransom

for this ghastly deed; for it is the way of the gentry,

is it not?

To kill in the shades of darkness

 for the sake of a ale come ‘morrows eve.

Oh fair maiden ’tis the truth I speak

say not to one ’tis such that ails me.

What help is a Samaritan to a Jew

or a Jew to a Samaritan

if the oath of humanity is not revered by both.

‘Do unto another … as you will them do unto you’

Tis not help they seek to offer my beloved

but a morsel of fat they hope to gain

an offering to grease the sizzling pans of gossip.

For to truly help another

the sands on their heels must not be ignored

nor the scars on their backs.

From this they have been shaped

From this they must shape the future

guided with dignity

and not the arms of a narcissistic saviour.

Oh fair maiden heed my advice

Stay far from the morsel of gossip

it breeds you nothing but a soul fattened with maggots.